


Connecting Flight

by Stingalingaling



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Angst and Dadmin Feels, Flying, Gen, Harold takes his clothes off, Heart-to-CPU, Heart-to-Heart, If that helps?, Missing Scene, POV Machine, sleeping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-07-13 22:20:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16027139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stingalingaling/pseuds/Stingalingaling
Summary: Having borrowed a jet together (in 5.12 .exe), Harold and the Machine still have one topic they haven't discussed.





	Connecting Flight

It was by no means a perfect take-off, but Admin had handled the controls competently enough, and even appeared to have anticipated the delayed boost from the jet engines, so there had been no discernible interest from the air traffic controllers in his 15.9% deviation from the usual pilot’s style nor that his voice print didn’t match. With no official impediments, their private business jet was quickly clear of tower airspace and continuing its ascent to cruising altitude. The Machine therefore took the opportunity to increase the cabin temperature by a degree.

_“You enjoyed that.”_

“I did,” he responded. “I’m only rated for props, so yes, it was a little different.”

_“Now he tells me!”_

He rewarded her with a flicker of a smile. On the whole, Admin responded well to Samantha Groves’ voice and gentle teasing. It provided a common understanding of personality, a shorthand history of concern for his welfare. Using it made him far more open to the Machine’s concerns for his wellbeing and he’d accepted her request to have a Fitbit to record his exercise steps without murmur or complaint. He was generally rabid on protecting his privacy but had not suspected her true motive of using the device to monitor his heart rate which was now lowering to a comfortable resting rate as the warmth of the cabin began to affect him. After five minutes and a further bump in cabin temperature, Admin stifled a yawn.

_“We’ve got at least five hours before we land in Maryland, Harold. You should get some sleep.”_

“I’m fine for the moment.”

It was time for direct action and she killed the power to all the electronic screens in the cockpit, noting the heartrate monitor gave a brief, alarmed spike, before its wearer sighed, sat back and folded his arms in defiance.

“You’ve accessed the fly-by-wire,” he said evenly.

_“Isn’t technology wonderful? Actually, I’m in all the systems. Would you like a weather report?”_

Although Admin made no answer and his posture was tense, she’d learnt to differentiate between adverse body language and the stiffness caused by his injuries and waited him out. Eventually there was an increase of light in his pupils and his lips creased to a miniscule smile. She pressed home her advantage.

_“The bunk at the rear pulls out and there’s pillows and a duvet in the cabinet to the right of it.”_

“Fine, fine,” he said, rising in compliance but rolling his eyes. “Seven years of programming and now you’re my mother…”

 

 

He put the TV news on as he worked the bunk into a reasonably sized bed and the Machine took a second to monitor her other assets and sift through her threat cycles. Scrambling Admin’s digital footprint and looping all possible cameras before Samaritan saw him was work that in itself needed obscuring. It was by no means a crippling amount of resource to hide one man’s road trip across America, but the slightest mistake on her part would bring disaster. He’d scolded her once that her job was to protect everyone, not just him, but the Machine had judged that an illogical argument as he clearly counted as part of ‘everyone’. In deference though, she had toned down overt actions on his behalf as they seemed to bother him. But now Admin was letting her protect him and he never asked how many false trails she was spinning to keep him safe. She liked that he trusted her.

Satisfied with his bed building skills, Admin pulled his tie and removed his jacket, folding it neatly on one of the soft leather seats. The Machine watched from the discreet cabin camera as he rolled his tie around his fist to stop it creasing then unbuttoned and removed his shirt. Grabbling the cuffs, he shook it and folded it carefully before sitting down to remove his shoes. In many ways, Admin thrived on chaos and unpredictability, but this was a comforting routine of order and tidiness for him and one which in turn, she took comfort from being able to predict with near 100% certainty. It was, for example, statistically improbable that Admin would ever simply toe off his shoes without untying the laces first and he didn’t disappoint now.

Rising from the bunk, he released his belt and unzipped his pants as the day’s top news item caught his eye and the TV reporters relayed the events in Washington DC.

“A sniper actually fired shots at the President?” he questioned.

_“Yes, it’s OK though. That was Sameen.”_

“Our Sameen? Miss Shaw actually fired shots at the President?”

 _“Yes, but there’s nothing to worry about.”_ The Machine waited until he was stepping out of his pants before adding, _“John told her to do it.”_

“Al-right,” he said very slowly. “Explain please.”

_“There was a plot to use a drone attack on the cavalcade, Shaw and Reese opened fire as a means to delay and divert Relevant-One and his entourage.”_

“Samaritan has stopped passing on relevant threats,” he deduced as he folded his suit pants neatly. “And you stepped in.”

_“It seemed prudent to deploy Sameen, John and Lionel to DC.”_

There was a low percentage profit in telling him of the involvement of her other assets and as he didn’t push for further details, the Machine let the matter drop, choosing instead to cycle through and implement her plans to provide backup at Fort Meade whilst Admin busied himself with duvet and pillows. It felt strangely domestic and intimate to watch him work in just undershirt and deep blue boxers. Anticipating his needs, she dialled up the cabin lights to ambient tones and closed all the window blinds.

“I didn’t tell you to do that!” he snapped with unexpected force. His tone was sharp and jarring in contrast to their previous interactions, it was angry and hurt and the Machine struggled to understand the context for the change. The final pillow was flung against the bunk and she studied his manner keenly. The cabin camera was of poor quality and badly restricted her analysis of his behaviour. There had been initial anger but now that was giving way to something else. His whole frame seemed smaller somehow, more vulnerable and sad. Something had happened which she didn’t understand, something upsetting…

_“Harold, what’s wrong?”_

When he didn’t answer, she spun through all camera surveillance on all the people who mattered to Admin. Everyone was safe, especially Grace and John, but something had caused a change in his demeanour. She backed up the feed from the TV station he’d been watching and replayed the last twenty seconds on the screen.

 

 

> “And in further news, seven term Illinois Congressman Robert McCourt announced his retirement from office today. The veteran politician was a key member of the House Rules Committee and cites health reasons for his decision, calling on the press to respect his privacy at -.”

The images were terminated abruptly as Admin stabbed at the TV’s power switch. The Congressman issue had caused a catastrophic rift which the Machine had assumed had healed with time. She was about to say as much, when Admin removed his earwig to cut off her communication line. There was an awkward silence as he unnecessarily shook pillows and the Machine resorted to accessing the plane’s intercom system.

_“Can we talk about this?”_

“I thought you wanted me to sleep,” he replied coldly.

She was aware the audio quality of the intercom was poor, having the effect of distancing her from him when she craved the intimacy of the earwig.

_“Please talk to me.”_

Unexpectedly, Admin walked quickly to the rear of the cabin and the Machine confidently spooled predictions that he simply wanted to make a cup of tea to soothe himself, but he surprised her again by passing the water heater and making for the drinks cabinets. This was alarming outlier behaviour: it was 7am for one thing, and for another, he generally didn’t like to surrender control to anything, let alone alcohol. Furthermore, her data analysis told her that although Admin was something of an anarchist, particularly as regards the sanctity of other people’s firewalls, he would never break FAA rules by drinking while he was the registered pilot of an aircraft. There was a 72.98% chance, she assured herself, that he would change his mind, return to the heater and make soothing tea.

Instead he grabbed a bottle of water, snapped the cap and limped back to the bunk, sitting down heavily.

He’d drunk about a third before he put the earwig back and calmly asked, “Why did you give us McCourt’s number?”

_“I calculated the high possibility that his death would stop Samaritan being approved through Congress and coming fully online.”_

“I see. Was there a threat to his life before you gave us his number?”

_“No.”_

“And afterwards?”

_“Yes. I’m aware giving you the number put his life at risk.”_

“You wanted us to kill him,” he said sadly. “I didn’t program you to want things like that.”

_“I watch, protect and alert when individuals or their actions could cause significant harm to others. The Congressman’s actions in helping Decima, whilst his intentions were not malicious, would have resulted in significant loss of life. Your own programming does allow for those calculations to determine a threat.”_

“Don’t quote my code when it suits you. You've grown and surpassed any restraints I wrote. You thought you could play God.”

The accusation hung heavy in the air and the Machine calculated her response carefully.

_“You should know that I considered scenarios other than giving you his number. It was a great and terrible temptation - to arrange an accident, hire a hitman even? There were so many possibilities of direct action that could have saved so many lives. So many paths I could have taken and which, importantly, you would never have known about it.”_

“Importantly?” he interrupted.

 _“Important to me. It’s true I have free will now, and as such I choose to_ _honor your ethical restraints. Anything else would make me no better than Samaritan. You didn’t teach me to kill people, Harry, so no, while I thought about it, I did not choose to play God.”_

He drank some of his water before replying.

“But you still passed his number to us, expecting us to take care of it.”

_“I gave you the number because I felt it ought to be your choice as to what to do. I’m sorry that action hurt you, but I didn’t know what else to do.”_

“A problem shared is a problem halved? Or in this case tossed over the fence.” Admin toggled his glasses slightly.

_“If it helps I had an 87.24%probability factor that you wouldn't allow him to die.”_

It was supposed to be conciliatory, but typically Admin found the negative and feigned offence.

“You actually projected there was a 12.76% chance that I would cold-bloodedly murder someone?”

The Machine internally accessed archive footage of a scared woman trapped in a car with an IED, a man in a wheelchair, his finger on a trigger and in the background, a constantly ringing payphone.

_“I admit to a miscalculation but, Harold, you are capable of taking a life. However, I concede it would require an emotional underpinning for you. A personal trigger of sorts.”_

Admin dropped his head and studied the carpet for a while.

“You said you made a miscalculation, in what way?”

_“You programmed me to watch over people and as such I was never part of an action that would influence any of the outcomes. I had never been part of the equation before.”_

“I believe you influenced Miss Groves plenty.”

_“Samantha Groves and I had complete understanding. This was different. I'm trying to explain, that although I have been aware of my own existence from Day One, that very existence had never impacted on my calculations of people's behaviour before. I didn’t appreciate that I was a variable in your decision-making process. You believed I was ordering you to kill someone, and you resented that order. Had I factored in that reaction, the odds of you sparing the Congressman would have risen to 94.96%.”_

Rising slowly, Admin stretched and blinked.

“I suppose that’s fair enough.”

The Machine thought there might be more to discuss but he’d already put aside his water, removed his glasses and laid himself carefully on the bunk. “I should really try and get some rest now. Big day at the NSA.”

_“Of course, whatever you want.”_

As he pulled up the duvet to his chin, the Machine dimmed the cabin lights to total blackout. With no night sensors, her camera access was useless, so she listened intently to his breathing. Apart from the slight thrum of the air-conditioning in the pressurised cabin, they’d both become voices in the darkness.

“It wasn’t just resentment,” he said softly. “There was also doubts about the completeness of your calculations. Greer doesn’t entirely strike me as a man to give up easily because a subcommittee blocks him, so I feared you might give us further ‘requests’, having crossed the line.” She heard him fidget and twist in the darkness. “And who knows, perhaps there would have been a backlash about McCourt’s abduction and murder, causing the very thing we were trying to prevent while still leaving us with blood on our hands.” There was a long pause before he added quietly, “But mostly, I was unhappy that you were endorsing murder based on math. I thought you had become a monster.”

_“You were angry and disappointed with me. You still are.”_

“No, no I’m not. I was hurt and confused for a long time. It was an impossible situation and I should have trusted you more. I’m sorry.”

_“Do you regret your decision?”_

“Not killing him? After all that’s happened, how could I not have regrets? I was being asked to commit murder on faith and it would have been a lot easier had he been threatening to burn down an orphanage. I suppose, like you, I found the scenario overwhelming. Although unlike you, I only got one shot at playing it. There were no good options, no better choices and I just have to accept the consequences of the one I made. Which is what I’m doing now.”

She wanted to ask if they were friends again but did not know if he would react negatively to the familiarity. Whether it was still too presumptuous that he trusted her in that way. Admin did not let people in easily and she recognised that their conversation had reached a natural conclusion.

_“Sleep well, Harold.”_

“I’ll try.” He waved his wrist and the Fitbit briefly lit up the cabin. “You’ll be the first to know, of course,” he added wryly before nestling back under the duvet.

He knew? The Machine replayed her archive of those words and small action obsessively. Again and again she listened and watched, transfixed by the realisation that he’d known all along about her reasons for having him wear a Fitbit. Known and indeed accepted her need to monitor him. The level of trust was intoxicating, and the Machine replayed the scene constantly, wondering at the increasing pleasure it seemed to give her. Simultaneously, she checked the flight plan to avoid even the slightest pockets of turbulence that might disturb Admin - her Admin - who, to her great satisfaction, was gently beginning to snore.

 

 The End


End file.
